And please, if you read the book and enjoy it, do leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, your own blog, whatever you’ve got. It is greatly appreciated!

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I’m having a Facebook Release Party on October 24th at 7pm EST. There will be guests, prizes, excerpts and fun, so please come join us!

I shall have a prize packet giveaway with stuff from Ireland, a signed, limited edition print of a photo I took in Ireland near where the book action is, exclusive excerpts from the book, and a contest. Would you like a character named for you in my next book? Come join in!

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Ireland is no promised land in 1846. It is wracked by a crippling potato blight, and people are dying. But Valentia McDowell doesn’t know that.

From her father’s prosperous farm in Ohio, young Valentia is haunted by tales of an abandoned family and a lost heirloom. She travels to her grandmother’s homeland with her brother, Conor, and two servants, to find both. Her delight in the exciting journey on one of the first steam ships to cross the Atlantic is shattered by a horrible tragedy.

What she encounters upon her arrival in Ireland is both more and less than she had hoped. Valentia finds both enemies and allies, amid horrors and delights, and a small bit of magic. She finds a richer heritage than she had ever imagined, but it comes with a price.

When she finally reaches her goal, a terrible price is demanded. She must pay or forfeit, and both decisions have strong consequences for her and her friends.

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The following is an excerpt from Legacy of Hunger. The scene is in Donegal, where Valentia McDowell has insisted on touring the squalid workhouse, to see for herself the conditions therein.

The building was a grey brick structure with four floors and windows. It would have looked grim, even if she was unaware of its purpose. When she entered, though, the first thing that hit her was the stench. Unwashed bodies, feces, sweat and fear mingled with industrial scents to slap her in the face with an almost physical presence. She staggered for a moment, while Mellon chuckled. “It’s a wee bit fresh in here, Mistress. Someone ought to have warned ye.”

She shot him a disgusted look, breathing through her mouth as much as she could. They were in a bare hallway, with what looked like dormitory rooms on either side. She glanced in, noting rows of bare pallets with a single, threadbare blanket on each.

“Men sleep on the left, women on the right. The children are on the other end of thebuilding.” They continued until they came into a larger room filled with women doing needlework. The light was poor, and most were stooped over their work, trying hard to see. The dust in the room made it even more difficult to breathe than in the hallway near the dorms. “How many hours a day are the workers required to work, Mr. Mellon?” “Ten. The men are in the yard, breaking stone for roadworks and bridges.” “And the children?” There had to be some, but none were with the women. “Oh, they get schooling, until they are old enough to work. We even train them for proper jobs.” “What sort of jobs?” “Factory work and the like.” While they were passing by, one woman fell out of her rickety chair, landing on the fabric she had been stitching. Mellon grunted and flicked a hand at a guard who was standing in the corner. The guard came over and propped the woman back up into her chair, but she fell over again. “That woman’s in need of medical help, not rough handling,” Valentia said. “She’s in need of a tawsing. She’s just lazy and doesn’t want to do her work,” he growled, gesturing to the guard again. Before the guard could do anything, Valentia rushed to the old woman, wrinkled and shriveled like crumpled paper. She put her hand on the woman’s forehead, then pulled it away from her burning skin. “She’s burning up with fever. Where’s your physician? You must call him at once!” “A physician? For the likes of her? She’s just faking to get out of work.” “Mr. Mellon! This woman is ill. She is not faking, she’s burning up! Get someone tohelp her immediately!” Mellon beckoned to another guard, who helped the woman up, pulling her back towards the dormitories. Valentia stood, fuming, until they had taken her out of sight. “She’ll be tended to. Are you done yet?” Mellon said, clearly gruff and impatient. Valentia considered, but she had seen enough. She wanted to get back to the inn and write O’Brien a letter about what she had learned.

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Don’t miss information on Celtic myth and history, as well as practical travel planning tips, and hidden places, in my travel books.

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I am an artist, accountant and author living in western New York, transplanted from Denmark, Michigan, Florida, West Virginia, Pennsylvania (in that order!) I love the beauty of the world and sharing it with others through jewelry, photography, digital painting and writing.

I write historical fantasy novels, mostly set in Ireland, and a contemporary romance based on my parents’ 30-year search for true love. Don’t miss information on Celtic myth and history, as well as practical travel planning tips, and hidden places, in my travel books.